


The garden of hopes and flowers

by moonmarble



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not permanently), It Gets Better, M/M, Mute Castiel (Supernatural), Poor Castiel, Slavery, and i have zero idea how to write tags, because crowley is big softie (we all know it), crowley is a little bit of a jerk from the beginning, he just didn't deserve things I did to him, he's a jerk, might add characters later, okay, the non-con is not between crowley and castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25658191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmarble/pseuds/moonmarble
Summary: After successfully returning Leviathans back into the Purgatory, Castiel was to face Heaven's judgment for the betrayal of his own kind. Death? Too merciful for a traitor he was. Life long of slavery to suffer for his decisions? Yes, Heaven decided, that would be his punishment.===Alright I found out that I suck at summaries too. Aka, the AU after the end of season 6, in which is Castiel sentenced to serve as a slave as long as he lives. As he changes one master after another, his will to live fades away day by day,  the cold abyss in his heart growing deeper. That is until he meets Crowley again.Supernatural and its characters are not mine, of course. Just this story.
Relationships: Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! My first fic here, I'll be grateful for any encouraging comments, advice or constructive criticism. Enjoy!

Castiel bit his lip as he tried not to whimper in pain as the dried torn skin on his knuckles opened again and the blood streamed down the wooden shaft of the broom, only to freeze a few seconds later in the chilly air of January. And then again, as he moved the broom again, the thin crust opened again. And again, and again and again. His lips were raw as he continued to keep his cries behind his teeth, however, the freezing wind with its icy spikes wasn't making it any easier. 

His teeth chattered and his whole body shivered. Indeed, it was a rather cold day today. However, if you would ask Castiel, he wouldn't really know. For him, every day was a cold abysm. He could barely remember the warmth of affection. The warmth of a hug, of a touch. Of Dean. And of course, he missed them all. Sam, Bobby, even some of the angels. However, in order to save his sanity, he had to bury all those feelings inside himself, becoming numb to the world around him. 

At first, he felt betrayed. He knew he was to be punished by the High council of Heaven, however, he was counting with an execution. That would be befitting of a traitor he was. But slapping a slave collar on him and selling him at Pluto's auction? Before he could even begin to process things, he was already sold to Ramiel. Slavery was a common occurrence among demons and monsters, with Heaven rarely pitching in. Heaven didn't keep slaves, as 'they'd sully the holy grounds' as High council claimed and most of the times, they punished their perpetrators with public execution. Not that it even came to that often. But boy, the Heaven hated him. Slavery for an angel was a much harsher and worse punishment than execution. 

Most of the slaves that demons, monsters, pagan gods, and rogue angels kept, were either abducted humans or monsters and demons unfortunate enough to become enslaved. However, an angel among their ranks was a rare exception. And none demon would pass an opportunity to get back at Heaven, even if it meant just taking it out on a powerless slave angel. 

However, as he was led down from the auction block, something broke in him. He gave up and accepted it all, as the guilt swallowed him and he was drowning in regrets. He didn't fight the guards. Why would he? Winchesters hated him after what he had done and so did heaven. All that that was left was simply to accept his mistakes. 

Ramiel wasn't a kind master, yet not necessarily cruel. He did have high demands of Castiel and the angel had worked himself to the bone, but he didn't hurt him on a whim, aside from occasionally bending him over right in the middle of his work and crudely claiming him. When Castiel screamed in pain from the beginning, Ramiel would just shove a piece of cloth in his mouth and continued in ramming into him. For Ramiel, it wasn't about Castiel's pain or humiliation at all. For him, the angel was just an occasional quick hard fuck. Nothing more. Castiel learned to accept that and held still, waiting for the prince of hell to simply finish his business so he could continue in the work he was assigned. 

Then had come Belial. If Castiel's mind weren't so numb he would've shuddered as the memories flooded his mind. Unconsciously, he gripped the staff of the broom harder, more blood pouring from his devastated knuckles, breath hitching in his lungs.

One day, Ramiel was visited by one of his brethren, Belial, who took an immediate interest in the angel slave. Even back then, all that Belial had to do was to simply smirk at him and Castiel could feel his whole body tremble in fear. After a few visits which very much consisted of Belial hungrily eyeing the angel and licking his lips in anticipation, Ramiel simply sold Castiel to Belial.

And that was when true hell started for Castiel. Belial never used him for work. Instead, the angel was kept on a chain, mostly secured to Belial's bed, as the demon duke humiliated him, starved him, and raped him for several decades in Hell. As much as Castiel learned to stay silent and accept his eternal punishment, every restraint broke in him again. The angel screamed his throat out as he failed to endure Belial's harsh punishments which were earned for tiniest of transgressions, mostly those which came out of Belial's constant changing of the rules and failing to inform his slave. When Belial had sex with him, it was nothing like with Ramiel. Yes, Ramiel did not care if the angel bled, nor did he care about Castiel whatsoever. Belial however always tried to maximize his own pleasure and then the pain and humiliation inflicted to Castiel. When the demon duke had started to notice that his slave learned to blank out after several years, he did something even worse to the slave, something, that broke the angel forever. It always left Castiel as a big sobbing mess after he was even forced to enjoy the intercourse as Belial did everything he could so the fragile human vessel of his would betray him and give in the primal pleasure. 

One day, after one such session, Belial had simply grown tired of the angel’s whimpering and severed his vocal cords. And even though it had been a long time since Castiel called for help, this was more than of a reminder that none would ever come.

And now, he was here, working himself yet again to the bone, at the mansion of a rogue angel Azrael. The angel gritted his teeth as the wind bit into his skin with ravenous ferocity, numbing his fingers completely. A silent whimper escaped his lips when the broom fell out of his lifeless fingers and hit the ground with a too loud of a crack for his ears. 

_ Not ruin or damage Master’s property! _

Castiel flinched as the invisible whip hit him and whimpered even more. Soon, at least one of Azrael’s guards would turn up behind a corner and fuck him raw into the freezing floor. However, they’d do it anyway, no matter if he broke one of the Rules or not. After Belial had grown bored of him, he simply sold him to first person to show an interest. If Castiel ever hoped to find compassion in the fellow angel, it was quickly crushed from the very beginning. One of the main reasons Azrael went rogue and was banished from Heaven, was his interest in his research of mortal bodies. However, as soon as his interest began to turn to immortals, he was quickly cast out of Heaven. So a broken docile angel was just perfect. Until he found out that the slave was simply way too damaged for any desirable results. And since then, Castiel would just become a ghost, toiling away at Azrael’s mansion and a chew toy for his guards, too numb, too broken to feel anything.

Yet, that was all about to change, as a distantly familiar voice cut through the air, bringing even more chill to his spine, despite the cold and spreading the fear in his guts.

As the angel bent down to retrieve the broom, he noticed a polished stylish black shoe, holding the broom down. 

Another whimper hitched in his throat as the half-amused raspy voice called out. 

“Feathers?” 

* * *

_ N-n-no, no, no, no… _

It's been a few hours now, but Castiel’s body still trembled upon meeting the King of Hell as he was polishing the cupboards in the main hall. If there has been anyone holding a grudge against him, it was Crowley. After all, Castiel was the one who first uttered the words “Flee or die”.

_ “Now, would you look at that…” Crowley smirked and kicked the broom out of Castiel’s reach and the angel simply dropped to his knees and bowed his head, hoping that the demon would simply continue wherever he was headed, to Azrael’s office most presumably.  _

_ However, Crowley being Crowley, he wasn’t done yet, as he circled the kneeling angel. “I’ve heard some rumors but who would imagine there’s actually something to them?” _

_ “Tell me, angel,” the King of Hell suddenly crouched in front of him and raised his chin with a tip of his index finger, yet Castiel’s gaze was still fixed to the ground, “was it worth it? Betraying me and therefore failing just to become a beaten worthless whore?” _

_ Figuring this was just a rhetorical question, the angel stayed completely still, it wasn’t like he could verbally answer anyway. _

_ “Look at me!” Crowley suddenly hissed with venom in his voice, his aura darkening.  _

_ Castiel’s body automatically answered the spoken command and his lifeless eyes with a pinch of fear looked up to face the demon’s furious ones. _

_ Crowley’s mouth opened, undoubtedly to let other insults out but it closed again, his fist clenching at the same time. A small whimper escaped Castiel’s lips and he cringed away from demon’s touch, before remembering the Rules and forcing himself to stay still. What he couldn’t stop at that point was a crystal clear tear, glistening as it made its way down his dirtied cheek. If Castiel didn’t turn down his eyes, he could’ve seen the shift in Crowley’s eyes and his whole expression.  _

_ Suddenly, the demon let go of him roughly and stood up, briskly walking away, his steps echoing on marble tiles, not once stopping and looking back to the slave who crawled over to the broom, definitely not with a look of something, what alarmingly to him seemed like a distant relative of a pity. Or not? _

Loud footsteps resonated on the wooden parquet floor of a wooden hall as one of the guards approached him and woke him from his trance. “Hey! Angel slut!”

Castiel automatically dropped to his knees and let the guard grip him by his now overgrown hair, slightly opening his mouth, expecting the guard to use it as usual, which resulted in a dark chuckle from the guard. 

“Shame I don’t have the time now when you’re so eager…” The guard said with a disappointment in his voice. “No, Azrael has a new task for you. Seems like the King is actually staying for a few days. You’ll be responsible for his suite. I heard that you two are quite acquainted?”

When the angel simply stayed silent and unmoving, blank stare in his eyes, the guard simply backhanded him and shoved him onto the floor.

“Being you, I would try not to mess anything up. From what I’ve heard, he’s got quite a short temper.”

The guard’s laughter echoed in Castiel’s head long after the footsteps faded away. 

One would say that the angel would take a deep breath before gathering his cleaning supplies and heading to the suite. 

However, there was none as deep down, Castiel was too frozen with fear and anxiety he hadn’t felt in a long time. 


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, the second chapter is here. advice and critic are always welcome! enjoy

And that was all that was to be said for Castiel’s hope not to run in Crowley again. 

Knowing that Crowley was headed for a meeting with Azrael, Castiel hurries over to the suite, hoping to take care of the rooms before Crowley will get back. When he reaches the doors, he stills himself and gingerly knocks on the framed polished wooden door, part of the tension in his hunched shoulders leaving his body when there is no answer. He quickly slips in and observed the room, taking in the slightly rumpled bedsheets, as the demon must have sat there and faint traces of footprints on the floor. Good, that has given him a chance of quickly cleaning the mess up and getting out before he can be confronted by the King of Hell. 

As soon as he straightens the sheets, he drops down to the floor and starts scrubbing at the footprints. 

_ Please, let this be quick. _

A sound of the door opening and closing with an ominous thud makes his heart take a wild leap in his chest. 

“You know, at first I didn’t believe it. But here you are.”

Castiel suppresses a whimper and quickly turns around into a proper kneeling position, awaiting whatever the demon is planning to do, bracing himself for a hit or kick. However, all that the King of Hell does is to walk past the kneeling angel and sit in the armchair.

“Is there anything you would like to say for yourself?” Crowley says, pouring himself a generous dose of whiskey, his voice dangerously tense. 

The angel swallows, wondering what a miracle it is that his wildly beating heart hasn’t leaped out of chest yet, his whole body trembling in fear. Even with his eyes cast down he can feel Crowley’s scorching gaze on his body, eyeing him like a predator. Whatever he’s gonna do, Castiel prays it will be quick enough and not really damaging, as to not give the guards another excuse beat him for his tardiness. 

Crowley downs the whiskey in one go and puts the glass down slowly, the sound of glass hitting the wooden table resonating through the silent suite. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

Castiel makes a pathetic attempt to draw a calming deep breath and reaches up with his shaking hands to lift up his collar a bit, baring his neck for Crowley, showing the two pale scars left after the incisions that took his voice. Trembling, he waits for the laughter to cut through the air, for the demon to laugh at his predicament, however, all that his ears perceive is the sloshing of whiskey as the King of Hell pours himself another glass, which is immediately downed again.

“Come here!” the demon suddenly barks out.

The angel gathers his shaking body and crawls over to the armchair, not wanting to give any more reason to Crowley to hurt him, wincing as the whip cuts from the day before open again. Suddenly he’s gripped by the chin and his gaze forced to meet the demon’s furious one. 

“Do you have ANY idea how hard it was to contain Hell after you disapp- after that?” Crowley says, his voice dripping with barely contained anger. “We had a deal!” 

The angel cowers a little, expecting a blow to come. Instead, the demon’s grip on his tightens and Castiel can already feel a bruise forming, marveling at the self-control the demon is probably manifesting as to not hit him. Maybe he doesn’t want to offend Azrael by damaging his property?

After a minute of silence, the demon leans over and Castiel can definitely tell that these two shots of whiskey were definitely not the first ones today. “I don’t want to see you here again, get out,” he hisses, his voice cold as the darkest pitch of the Empty and his grip loosening.

It takes Castiel merely a nanosecond to process the order as he hurries to get up to get his cleaning supplies and doesn’t waste any time leaving the room. Down in the hall, he distantly hears a sound of glass shattering against a wall.

As soon as he almost barges into the small utility closet which he generously called his room, he sits down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall and hugs his shaking legs, slowly rocking himself in the rhythm of his sobs. Crowley ordered him out, but Azrael’s orders were to take care of his rooms as long as he stays at the mansion. Castiel is bound to get punished a really soon, he is fully aware of that. 

But does he cry simply because of the pain that’s about to come?

* * *

The whole morning next day, Castiel’s body is all tensed up. He doesn’t dare to disregard Azrael’s direct order, yet Crowley’s was more than clear. As he goes about his usual chores, he tries to think of a way to sneak into the suite without the demon noticing. He still doesn’t know why the King of Hell is actually here, so it is hard to think of a time when Crowley wouldn’t be in his rooms. He is fully aware that he should do it in the forenoon, as any time later he would risk somebody checking Crowley’s rooms just to be sure he is doing his job. As much as he is terrified of the demon now, he knows he is here only temporarily, unlike Castiel who is bound to stay here until he would be sold away. It isn’t worth it to give the guards any more reasons to hurt him.

It takes him several chores to get done before he gathers up enough courage to head to the guest area. As he walks down the hallway, it feels as if the air is getting denser and heavier. 

When he reaches the door to Crowley’s rooms, he realizes he’s been holding his breath all along. As he stands before the polished wooden door, all he can think about is every other place he would rather be at. 

Castiel hesitantly knocks on the door and his heart sinks when a raspy voice answers. “Come in.”

_ Oh lord, please no _

Using every bit of his will, Castiel forces himself to open the door, almost swaying on his as he feels so light-headed. His breathing becomes an irregular mess once he closes the door behind him and kneels down quickly, his kneecaps painfully connecting with the wooden floor.

“I think I’ve expressed myself clearly enough…?” Crowley says, his voice cold like ice, however, the fury somehow dulled since yesterday. The angel doesn't dare to look up, but judging by the direction of the voice, the King of Hell is still in the same armchair as yesterday.

Castiel takes a quick look around, taking in the half cleaned footprints from yesterday and the smashed glass of whiskey. He gestures to those and makes a pleading gesture, hoping the demon would understand. He holds his breath as Crowley stays silent for a while, the pounding of his heart clearly audible. 

The angel does not understand what is happening to him. If you asked him two days ago, he would not care about anything. His mind was reduced to a simple mindset consisting of trying to avoid additional pain because it hindered him in his work which then led to another punishment, eating and sleeping purely to keep himself alive. Why? He does not know. At this point, he hasn't cared enough to even end his miserable pathetic caricature of life. He tried once, back with Belial, and it earned him nothing else than harsh punishment. But now? Something has made Castiel come out of his numb shell in which he locked up his mind and the angel didn't like it one bit. 

Because it has made him care again. And that is dangerous.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" The demon suddenly asks with a hint of mockery in his tone, which makes Castiel snap out of his thoughts and quickly get to work. 

He is aware that the King of Hell is watching him as the intensity of his sharp gaze seems to be piercing his back. When Castiel is almost at the point of breaking down under the pressure of it, he hears a sudden creaking of the armchair, rustling of paper, and, some moment later, Crowley's quiet mumbling mo as he probably goes through some deals and contracts, that have been recently made. 

Despite all, it makes Castiel relax a little into the euphonical murmur with a steady British accent. 

Locked deep down in his mind, the angel accidentally cuts himself on a shard of the glass. Castiel probably would have cursed a little if he could. He quickly presses his palm against the rags he called his clothes, stealing a quick glance back to the King of Hell.

To his relief, it seems that the demon hasn't noticed anything. It is a little harder to clean the floor with just one hand, however, it's still a much safer choice than to dirty the floor and bringing an unnecessary punishment upon himself. 

Gritting his teeth in pain, as the gash in his palm rubs against the crude material of his shirt, Castiel continues, hoping to finish as soon as possible and to get out of the suite as soon as possible. 

However, all caught up in his concentration, he does not notice the demon standing up and walking over to the kneeling figure at first. 

"You're bleeding," the King of Hell states dryly. 

Castiel frantically shakes his head and presses the injured hand further to his body. He scrubs the floor even harder, tears welling in his eyes. 

If he could talk, he would probably beg.  _ Please, I can work, it’s nothing. _

“Stop,” Crowley growls, exasperation clearly audible in his voice, making Castiel instantly freeze in his motion. The angel nearly jumps out of his skin when the demon crouches down next to him. “Give me your hand.”

Before Castiel’s shock frozen can process the order, the demon grabs his hand roughly, yet with a hint of gentleness at the same time. Or was it Castiel making it up? Crowley holds his hand firmly, examining the cut, but doesn’t seem to be intent on inflicting pain.

“Stay here,” the demon king grunts as he gets up and heads in the direction of the bathroom, leaving the baffled angel on the floor. 

Castiel shuts his eyes, trying hard to not let the apprehension take the rule of his mind and body. He doesn’t understand. Why is he afraid so much? Crowley can’t hurt him more or cause him greater pain than Beliel or Azrael did. The demon can’t do much worse to him. Or can he? 

_ What is happening? _

Before he can come up with the answer, the King of Hell is back again, carrying what seems to be a wet hand towel. The angel can’t help the involuntary flinch as the demon grabs his injured palm.

Crowley pauses and tilts his head a little, looking at the slave with an inscrutable look in his eyes, yet Castiel can’t see that, as his own eyes are obediently trained on the floor, his body tensed, but compliant, awaiting the pain that is surely about to come.

The angel almost gasps in surprise as all he can feel is a firm pressure of the towel on his palm, not too gentle, yet not painful either. 

Castiel is too shock struck to react in any way, too surprised by Crowley’s action. Yet surely… the pain will come at any moment. 

_ It always does. _

Out of sudden, there’s a loud knock on the door. “Hold it there,” Crowley grumbles and gets up. “Come in,” he calls, his voice dangerously vibrating with irritation, making the angel cringe in fear.

Crowley would be lying to himself if he said he haven’t felt a pang of pain in his heart upon the sight. 

Before he can do anything, the door opens, letting in one of Azrael’s guards, who takes in the glass, blood, and the cowering angel with a gleeful smirk on his face. “Mr. Crowley, Azrael would like to see you in the office.”


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I am sorry for the long inactivity. Things weren't exactly fine lately. I'll try to update more regularly from now on. Enjoy!!

Crowley steals one quick glance at the kneeling angel and leaves the room without a word. The King of Hell certainly does not miss the gleeful smirk in the eyes of the guard, yet he does not say anything. He knows it’s not his business and that he shouldn’t care.  _ Not again…  _ He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, images of Castiel’s Leviathan wrecked body flashing in front of them.

As soon as the demon’s footsteps fade away, the guard walks into the room and yanks Castiel up by his hair. Tears start to well up in the angel’s eyes as he hisses in pain and lets go of the blood-soaked towel. 

“Come on, you whore,” the guard sneers with amusement and starts to drag the slave out of the room. “Come make yourself finally useful.”

Castiel tries to persuade himself that the tears streaming down his face are purely because of pain. 

But he fails. 

* * *

Castiel doesn’t meet Crowley for two days. Is he relieved? He doesn’t know. Every time he knocks on the door, his body freezes with fear and apprehension. Yet at the same time, there is a small part of him that gets a little disappointed when no raspy voice with familiar British accent answers…? If anything, the angel is confused. 

_ Why do I even care? I shouldn’t… Not again  _

Castiel doesn’t understand anymore. He wants to scream. He wants to escape back into the numb shell of himself he created. One thing he knows for sure is that even if Crowley himself has not hurt him yet (and he surely will), even the brief moments in his presence has hurt Castiel more than the years of torture and humiliation he has suffered at hands of Belial and Azrael.

Because Crowley is the remainder of the life he will never have again. 

_ “Now… You have two options. Flee or die.” _

Oh how much would Castiel love to flee back into numbness. 

_ Everything would be easier…  _

Oh how much tears it has cost him for him to persuade himself that deep down he hates the demon.

Yet, as he will realize in days, months, and years to come, he lost that fight a long time ago. 

* * *

It has been two days now since he saw Crowley last. The January still held its chilly rule in the atmosphere. But if you’d ask Castiel, he wouldn’t know if he felt cold just because of the freezing temperatures. 

However, he definitely couldn’t deny his frozen bloody fingers, all raw from scrubbing the floor of the foyer, most of which he almost couldn’t even feel at this point. As he’s trudging across the hallway, head bowed and shoulders hunched, the heavy bucket full of dirty water falls out of his numb fingers before he can stop it.

All he can do is scream silently and watch in horror as the bucket spills into a flood of murky water that splashes on the marble floor and, to Castiel’s horror, all over the black polished shoes that somehow seemingly appeared out of thin air.

Castiel doesn’t need to look up to know who do they belong to. As well as the second pair the shoes that now stopped beside the first one. 

The angel nearly faints and drops to his knees immediately, pressing his forehead firmly against the cold and wet marble.  _ Azrael is going to skin me alive…  _

“You little shit,” the fallen angel hisses with venom in his voice, making Castiel shudder violently. “I’ll make sure that walking will be just a distant dream for you,” Azrael takes a step to him, raising his leg to kick the hunched figure on the ground. 

Castiel almost gasps in surprise when the expected blow does not come. 

“Since my shoes are the ones that got ruined, I would like to be the one to actually administer the punishment,” the raspy, yet somehow silky whiskey tinted voice cuts through the air. 

The angel flinches violently.  _ No, no, no… Please, no _

“Well, of course,” Azrael scoffs with a badly hidden amusement. “Maybe the little bitch will finally learn something,” he says and grips tightly Castiel’s overgrown hair to yank him up and drag him towards the courtyard, uncurling his whip. 

The angel doesn’t even whimper anymore or cast a pleading look at Crowley. It’s not like he can beg anyway. 

It’s not like he’s going to receive mercy anyway. 

Suddenly, Azrael stops in his step and Castiel dares to steal a quick glance up to find, to his very own surprise, Crowley’s hand on his master’s arm, halting him in his movement. 

“And I’d very much prefer to do it in my rooms,” the King of Hell says casually, yet his voice is accentuated by a breath of summer storm as he evenly matches Azrael’s gaze. 

A cold amused sneer paints itself over fallen’s angel face as he smirks. “Very well, why not,” he lets go of Castiel, who falls onto the floor in one big trembling mess, and hands the whip over to the demon, who accepts it with a well-hidden disgusted reluctance. “Just… Try not to kill him. I know you two had beef with each other, but I still hope to make some profit out of him. Asmodeus will surely be interested. Another one to his little collection.”

Azrael walks away, gleeful energy to his step. Castiel tries to take a huge calming breath, however, he would need a whole atmosphere of oxygen to manage that. His vision gets blurry with tears and his body shakes uncontrollably. 

_ I am gonna die tonight.  _

He dimly registers the demon crouching down.

_ Why am I crying? _

Crowley grabs his arm firmly.

_ Shouldn’t it make me happy? _

“Hey, feathers!” The King of Hell growls, voice clearly vibrating with irritation yet somehow strangely tinted with… concern? Castiel surely must have hallucinations. “Can you stand or do I have to help you?”

His words cut through the angel’s veil of consternation and he quickly scrambles to his feet, almost tripping and nearly fainting. 

Crowley squints at him with suspicion written all over his face. “Let’s go then, the longer I am standing here, the more my skin crawls,” he utters and turns on his heel, making his way to his rooms.

Castiel trudges after him, trying to make his steps as quiet as possible, his head hung low. All that can be heard are Crowley’s resolute steps resounding through the hallway and the air is filled with tension and the angel’s own fear, making it really hard for him to breathe. 

And Crowley? Crowley pretends he doesn’t feel the pain in his heart…

As soon as they reach Crowley’s suite, the angel drops to his knees immediately, grateful for the little relief as he is ready to either faint or throw up. He doesn’t even dare to look up as he hears the demon’s angry growl and the dull thud of the coiled whip hitting the wall. The angel flinches and braces himself for another one of Crowley’s outburst, however, the demon just strides over to the bathroom and slams the door behind himself.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Crowley slides down the wall, his knees feeling weak. He shuts his eyes firmly, the image of the angel’s terrified face flashing in front of his eyes. 

_ Those times are long gone _

He forces his body to get up and he runs cold water in the washbasin, splashing it across his face, forcefully calming down and taking long deep breaths despite his screaming lungs. The King of Hell looks up and stares at his own reflection in the mirror, seeing nothing but-

_ guilt. _

“No!” he snarls angrily. “IT’S HIS FAULT!” His fist connects with the mirror with force, shattering the fragile glass to million pieces, just like his soul once did.

_ I hate you! _

His knuckles go white as he grips the edges of the sink, shaking his head. 

“I am the bloody king of bloody hell!”

* * *

Castiel’s body starts to tremble uncontrollably as he hears the sound of glass shattering. Crowley is upset. That doesn’t mean anything good. The angel was very well aware of Crowley’s fits and outbursts, usually ending in at least one person dead. 

He can’t stop the tears flowing uncontrollably down his face as the bathroom door opens and he steals a quick glance toward it, paling immediately upon the sight of the shattered mirror and blood dripping from the demon’s knuckles. 

Maybe… if he could talk, he would’ve started to beg Crowley to simply end his life quickly. 

Alas, he can’t and all that is left for him is to helplessly watch Crowley pouring himself another glass of Scotch and downing it in one go. He immediately trains his gaze back on the floor as the demon’s eyes flick back to him. 

Then suddenly something soft lands on his head, making his vision go black. Wait, soft?

_ Is that a blanket? _

“I am in no state to deal with you or this shit tonight,” Crowley grumbles tiredly.  _ Or ever,  _ a bitter thought flashes across his mind. “Go get some sleep, you look ready to faint.”

Confused, Castiel reaches for the blanket the demon has thrown at him and pulls it off his head, staring at it incredulously, as if it chanted Christmas carols. Another crystal tear makes its way down his cheek.

Still in shock, he slowly curls down on the floor, wrapping himself in the blanket, as if it could shield him from everything. 

From the pain. 

From the humiliation.

From Azrael. 

From emotions.

_ From Crowley... _

Crowley looks away, unable to bear the sight of the angel clutching the blanket so tightly as if it could be snatched away at any moment. The King of Hell listens to his restless breathing, almost able to feel the tension in the angel’s muscles as if he was ready to flee any moment. 

He downs another glass. “Feathers, I swear, if you don’t go sleep now, I’ll knock you out.”

_ Sleep,  _ Castiel almost laughs bitterly, dreading the morning to come.  _ As if I could. _

However, despite his fears and thoughts, the fatigue and weariness win over and soon the angel drifts off to uneasy sleep.


End file.
